


The Nightingale's Song

by Burning_Nightingale



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Hot Springs & Onsen, Masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Resolved Sexual Tension, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-12 23:59:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18457298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Nightingale/pseuds/Burning_Nightingale
Summary: During her restoration of Nightingale Hall, Karliah finds a hidden room of natural hot springs buried deep under the other rooms and passages.Obviously, Brynjolf and the Dragonborn have to test them out.





	The Nightingale's Song

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sumi/gifts).



> Brought to you by my frustration that the game doesn't let me sit down in the hot springs.

Brynjolf hadn’t been back to Nightingale Hall since the three of them acquired their powers from Nocturnal. He figured the Empress of Shadows was like any good crime boss; happy enough for him to go his own way, so long as he knew to come when summoned. The familiar, boisterous halls of the Thieves’ Guild, though dank and at times foul-smelling, were more home to him than the crumbling grandeur of Nocturnal’s forgotten hall. Karliah was happy to spend most of her time there restoring the place, and Brynjolf presumed that was enough to keep the Lady happy. His presence was not required.

Until Karliah found the hot springs.

“Karliah thinks they’re an extension of the spring system further north,” Naterra told him as they moved down the passageway.

The entrance had shown clear signs of the work Karliah had done in uncovering it and removing the rock that had once blocked the tunnel. As they moved further down, Brynjolf could see all the places she’d added extra support to shore up the stone corridor’s walls, hopefully preventing any more cave-ins. “An expert in geology _and_ mining now, is she?” he asked.

Naterra quirked a questioning eyebrow at him, and he indicated the walls. “Oh, that. I think she talked to some experts in Shor’s Stone, to get their advice. But she did all the work herself.” A slight smile curved her lips. “We could be walking into a tunnel collapse, you know.”

“I’ll take the risk.”

Her smile tipped over into a laugh. “I’ll bet. Don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you came back here after the words ‘hot springs’ were mentioned.”

Brynjolf felt a smile of his own tugging at his lips. “Our own private hot springs? You’re lucky I waited for you.”

She laughed again, the sound echoing in the tunnel and bringing a lightness to his heart. He hadn’t seen her look like this - happy, calm, relaxed - since everything that had happened with Mercer.

Her voice brought him out of momentary reverie. “What’re you looking at?”

“You,” he said simply.

She snorted, though he thought there might have been the trace of a blush on her cheeks; it was hard to tell in the dark. “You old flirt.”

“Hey! Less of the old, if you please.” Over her sniggers, he said loudly, “When does this tunnel end, anyway? I feel like we’ve gone into the very bowels of the earth.”

“Afraid of ending up buried under ten tonnes of bedrock?”

“As is any sane man.”

“Well, fret no longer.” Naterra spread her arm out in a dramatic arc as the tunnel opened out. “Here we are.”

There was evidence that the place had once been shaped by hands other than nature; the floor had at one point been paved, though the stones were cracked and worn thin now, and in some places were missing entirely. Brynjolf counted seven pools; the two largest were open, while the others had been sectioned off with tall stone walls.

“The pools are glowing,” he said, staring.

“Glowing crystals line the bottom of the pools,” Naterra said. “Karliah isn’t sure whether they’re natural, or under an enchantment. Look, they’re in the walls, too.”

They were; embedded into every wall were chunks of crystal, which had begun glowing with a soft blueish glow as soon as they entered the room. “They reacted to our presence,” Brynjolf said, “Didn’t they? That must mean they’re under an enchantment.”

“Maybe,” Naterra said, “Perhaps the whole place is a gift from Nocturnal. Either way, those pools look inviting and I’m _dying_ to get into them. Coming?”

He followed her into the room, and watched as she chose the pool she preferred. One behind the screening walls, he noticed. He hadn’t exactly expected her to get naked in front of him, but as he stripped off behind his own wall, the image sprang unbidden into his head. Naterra’s strong, lithe body, all that smooth golden skin, getting wet and flushed with heat as she stepped into the pool…

He shook his head, banishing the image. It was inappropriate; she was no more than a friend, and now his Guildmaster besides. And possibly also quite a lot younger - or in fact, older - than him. It was always hard to tell with elves.

From her side of the wall came the sound of splashing water, and an exhalation that managed to be both a hiss and a moan all at once. Brynjolf tamped down on his instinctive reaction and called, “Everything alright?”

Her laugh echoed back. “It’s _hot_.”

“It’s right there in the name, lass; _hot spring_.”

Naterra muttered something that sounded suspiciously like ‘fuck off’, and Brynjolf couldn’t hold back a chuckle. It turned into a hiss the second he put a toe into the hot spring, and he thought for a second she’d make him eat his own words; but there was silence from her side of the partition as he eased himself inch by inch into the pool.

After a few minutes he called, “Enjoying it?”

“ _Love_ it,” she called back; already she sounded more relaxed. Brynjolf smiled to himself and let his head fall back against the side of the pool. The ancient Nightingales had clearly been at work here too, as the pool’s edges had been shaped into smooth curves, and there was a stone shelf running around the perimeter underneath the water that was just the right height to sit on and keep only one’s head out of the water. Feeling the heat begin to seep into his muscles, Brynjolf let his eyes slip closed.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in the pool when he heard her. He’d been slipping in and out of a light doze, his thoughts slow and fuzzy, drifting through his head like treacle. At first the small sounds of moving water merely blended into the background; for long minutes he didn’t notice her quick, sharp little breaths, sleepy as he was.

Then there was one louder, harsher inhalation, and suddenly he was wide awake.

For a moment he sat still, listening. The sounds were low, very quiet, but the echoing chamber magnified them until it felt like they were being poured straight into his ear, specially for him.

She couldn’t be- but- she had to _know_ he could hear her. Didn’t she?

Brynjolf sat frozen, still as the stone around him, listening to her make those little sounds. Little gasps; shaky breaths; the gentle, rhythmic slop of water against the walls of the pool.

He tried not to imagine what she looked like. One hand between her legs, partially obscured by the water; her chest heaving, her mouth ever so slightly open, the swell of her breasts rising and falling as she panted; her closed eyes, the look of mixed concentration and pleasure on her face-

Brynjolf stifled a groan. He was well on the way to being hard already, just from hearing her, _imagining_ her. He could see her so clearly in her mind, like a picture, the movements of his imaginary Naterra timed to the sounds still floating to him from across the partition wall.

Was he imagining it, or was she getting louder?

Brynjolf grit his teeth. She knew - she had to _know_. Was she teasing him? Perhaps she thought he was asleep - though how any man was supposed to sleep through her sounding like that was beyond him. He wouldn’t know until he moved. She’d keep going or stop - and either way, she’d know he’d heard her.

He was hard as granite, and it was an effort not to give in and touch himself. Just listening to her, seeing her in his mind’s eye, knowing she was only a scant few paces away in the next pool-

She gave a long, breathy moan, and Brynjolf was decided. She knew _exactly_ what she was doing, the little tease.

That conclusion was only affirmed when the sounds of him getting out of his pool and walking around the dividing wall didn’t stop her. Even more so, when he stood at the edge of her pool, and she met his eyes with a heavy, lidded gaze, not removing her hand from between her legs. “Hello,” she said, raising her eyebrows as her gaze locked onto his hard, straining cock.

Right. In the flush of his irritation, he’d forgotten about that detail. “What,” he started, then stopped, realising he sounded almost as breathless as she did. He cleared his throat and demanded, “What are you doing?”

Her eyebrows went higher. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

“I mean, _why_ are you doing it here? Now? In this particular situation?”

A slow smile spread onto her face. “Does it make you uncomfortable? You certainly seem a little frustrated.” She nodded toward his erection.

Brynjolf grappled for words, hopelessly distracted by the sight of her, real and right in front of him. She’d levered herself up a little out of the pool, lifting her full, perfect breasts out of the water, the nipples beginning to peak from sudden exposure to the cold air; he could see drops of water running slowly down their sides, couldn’t shake the image of following them with his tongue…

“Is this a punishment?” he said, purely on instinct, because right now that was exactly what it felt like.

“Of a sort, I suppose,” Naterra said. She stood, and the teasing tone dropped out of her voice. “How long have you wanted me, Bryn, and said nothing about it? Since we became Nightingales? Before?”

Brynjolf’s mouth worked, but no sound came out. He knew - could remember the exact moment he’d looked at her, proud and fierce and angry and beautiful, and had wanted her so much it made him ache - but he couldn’t put it into words. He looked away. “This is certainly adequate punishment. I know I- I’m wrong to want you.”

Her hand touched his face. “I didn’t mean it like that.” Reluctantly, he let her turn his head until he was looking into her eyes again. “I meant I’m getting frustrated with you not talking about it. I… I don’t like seeing you in pain.”

“You could’ve just asked,” he said hoarsely.

“This coming from the man who’d probably rather stab himself in the eye than talk about his feelings.”

He huffed out a laugh. “You have me there, lass.” For a second they just looked at each other. Brynjolf could feel the tension between them, the possibility. If he said the wrong thing now…or better, the right thing…

He turned his face and pressed a soft kiss to her palm. “Would you accept an apology?”

“Does that apology come with a kiss?” Naterra asked, taking a step closer to him.

“Aye.” Brynjolf bent down and rested his forehead against hers. “And more, if the lady so wishes.”

“Oh, she very well might.” A thumb stroked over his cheek, and Naterra’s lips were close enough that he could feel her soft breath. “Kiss first.”

Her lips were soft, and the kiss was gentle, tenderly gentle; an apology and a promise all in one. Her mouth still tasted ever so faintly of the cherries they’d eaten on the walk here. He brought a hand up to cup her cheek, caught between wanting more and wanting to drag this moment out, to savour it, to savour her.

She pulled back, and for a second they just stared at each other, breathing hard; then she took a few steps backward, and beckoned.

He followed her to the pool, watched as she sat down on the edge of it. “And me?” he asked.

“Wherever you want.” She smiled and leant backwards, opening her legs just a little. “You said you’d offer more than a kiss?”

“I’ll kiss any part of you you’d like kissed,” Brynjolf said, stepping into the pool.

“Now there’s an offer a lady always likes to hear.” She reached out and tangled her fingers in his hair as he stepped close. There was a shelf here just like in his pool, at about shin height, and he rested one knee on it, hooking her leg over his shoulder with one hand and pulling her legs wide. He leant in and kissed her there, on the tawny patch of hair that matched the hair on her head, relishing the shiver that ran through her. Then he pulled back slightly and left a long, slow trail of kisses down her thigh, starting at the curve of her knee and moving down, lavishing attention on each little piece of skin. She whispered his name when he reached the juncture of her thigh, and again louder when he gave the first long, slow lick up through the slick wet heat of her. Her taste was perfect on his tongue; he did it again, achingly slow, and again, revelling in the hitch in her breath each time.

Brynjolf slid his hand down her leg, getting a grip on her ass with one hand while he hooked her other leg over his shoulder with the other, keeping up the maddeningly slow licks. Her hand tightened in his hair; he could only surmise that she was enjoying it. He bent to his task, licking out every inch of her, pausing to suck and flick his tongue over the hard bump of her clit, listening as her gasps increased in frequency. And then she moaned, a sound that shot through him like a bolt of lightning. She was quiet naturally, he thought, at least during sex; that was why it felt like a victory every time he managed to make a moan slip out, every time she gasped his name. Each time the sound was like a jolt of heat that went straight through his gut and down to his cock, making him more painfully hard with every passing second. But he could wait; he would see to her needs first.

The first indication that she was close was the increase in moans; then her fingers tightening in his hair until it was almost painful. He urged her on, slipping two fingers up into her, at first just teasing the edge of her hole, then sliding deeper. He crooked them upward, in and out, stroking up into her, timing it with long, lavish licks up through her lips and over her clit. It took only another few seconds before he felt her squeeze around his fingers, and heard her gasp out a soft, “Oh, _oh_ ,” as she came.

He slid his fingers slowly in and out of her a few more times, prolonging the moment, and pressed a kiss between her legs again; then pulled back to look at her. She had half-collapsed onto one elbow, her chest heaving, and was staring down at him. For a long moment they just held each other’s gaze, unspeaking. Then Brynjolf bent his head and kissed her again, and then higher, making another trail across her skin; up and over the flat expanse of her stomach, up across her breasts, up the bared column of her neck and finally to her soft, welcoming mouth. He kissed her, long and slow, letting his body cover hers. His own unattended, aching erection was begging for attention, but he pushed the thought aside; he could take care of it later, if she-

She was either a mind-reader, or he was very obvious. He jumped as her hand touched his cock, a gentle, lingering stroke up his length that almost had him spilling then and there like a fifteen year old boy.

“I- I can-” he said, not really sure what he was going to say, but wanting to assure her she didn’t have to worry about it; but she silenced him with a kiss.

“I’ve had my choice,” she said when she pulled back, her voice low and just a little rough. “What about you?”

“Me?” Brynjolf echoed stupidly.

“In the pool? On the floor? Up against the wall, maybe?”

 _Anywhere_ , his mind said helpfully, and he tried to focus, to think straight. Where _would_ he take her, given all the choices this room had to offer? _Anywhere_ , his mind insisted, and he said, “Wall,” because it was the last thing he remembered from her list.

She pushed at his shoulder. “Let me up, then.”

Moving away from her was torture, but he did it, stepping back and giving her a hand up. She helped him up in turn out of the pool, and then he was driving her without thinking back against the wall, kissing her mouth and kissing, sucking on her neck. All he could think about was her mouth, her body, the tight heat between her legs that he was so desperate to be inside. She moaned a little when he hitched her legs up around his hips, lifting her off the floor and pressing her back against the wall so she kept her balance. She slid one hand into his hair again, used it to pull his head back so she could kiss him; she used the other to guide him inside her.

They both moaned as he slid in, easy and slick, right up to the hilt inside her. He didn’t have the patience left to go slow; he set a quick, desperate pace as he thrust in and out and into her, her moans heavenly in his ear. He buried his face in her neck, gasping as she squeezed and tightened around him, knowing that this was going to be embarrassingly short but no longer having it within himself to care. He went faster, faster, gasping her name into her ear, and moaned long and loud as orgasm hit him like a bright, searing burst of light.

For several seconds afterward he felt too stunned to move, coming down off the high that had been building for so long. He felt Naterra’s fingers carding through his hair; then she whispered, “Let me down, love,” and he did it without thinking, setting her gently down on her feet. “Come with me,” she whispered against his lips, and she led him back to the pool.

The heat of stepping back into the water brought him back to himself. “Your pool is hotter than mine,” he said as he sat down.

She laughed as she tucked herself in against his side. “Told you.”

For a while both of them were content to just sit there, soaking in the warm water, letting it wash everything away; Brynjolf was almost nodding off again when Naterra said, “Can I ask you something?” Brynjolf grunted an affirmative. “Why _didn’t_ you say anything?”

Trying to claw his way back to wakefulness, Brynjolf said, “Not exactly a safe bet, was it? And could’ve fucked things up royally if you didn’t feel the same way. So I kept quiet.”

“It had nothing to do with Karliah and Gallus?”

“No. You’re not Gallus; anyone who tries to knife you in the back will likely end up with an arrow in the eye. Don’t get me wrong,” he added, “I respected Gallus. He was a good man. But he’d never been betrayed, and it showed. Those who’ve known betrayal tend to pick their friends more carefully.”

Naterra nodded and was silent a long moment, seeming to mull it over. “I hope that I _have_ chosen those friends wisely,” she said - and then, softer, “I have chosen you, Bryn. I hope that you will always be by my side - wherever this new road will take us.”

“Aye, lass,” Brynjolf said, turning to kiss the top of her head, “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
